A/N: I said I'd repost/rewrite this, and I did. The changes aren't that noticable until chapter 9, when they finally time travel... so, yeah. Sorry about deleting this.

WARNINGS! AU. TSUNA WILL SEEM OOC. HE IS NOT OOC. HE IS BEING MEAN ON PURPOSE!

"400 YEARS IN THE FUTURE" (Future Reference: Future)

Calm. He slowed his breathing, allowing the faint sound to almost disappear. And he struck quickly, his sword slashing an arc of shining silver in the air as the metal kissed flesh.

"Is that all you can do?" His opponent asked, raising an eyebrow. "How weak. I was told that the Yamamotos were a skilled swordsmen lineage… were my sources wrong?"

"Sh-shut up!" Takeshi yelled, losing the battle to keep calm. How dare he do this? How could he hurt Takeshi's father so badly?

His opponent didn't even bother to reply and delivered a swift punch to Takeshi's stomach.

Pain. How could a punch hurt this much? Flames… he must have put flames in his punch.

Another punch. A kick to the head. He struggled but in the end the pain took over most of his senses.

It hurts. Takeshi thought as he sank to the ground, eyes closed. He could barely think through the burning pain. No.

"No!" He yelled, forcing himself to stand up on shaky, unstable legs as he raised his sword… So heavy… why don't I just drop it? I can't do this…

"Just give up." His opponent ordered. "Don't risk your life for something that isn't your fight, Yamamoto Takeshi."

"No!" Takeshi repeated, the word repeating itself in his head over and over. "I can't let you kill tou-san! Why—why are you doing this anyways?"

A flash of irritation crossed the other boy's features. "None of your business." The heir to the Vongola famaglia spat out.

"Tou-san… he's important to the Vongola… irreplaceable… he's second to only Varia! He can still fight— he's worthless to you dead—"

"I'm killing him because he's irreplaceable to the Vongola." Sawada Tsunayoshi cut in sharply.

Takeshi widened his eyes. "Why?" He whispered.

"Because I'm going to destroy the Vongola." Sawada replied icily. "Your father's in a near dead state anyways. My flames' burns are painless… his death won't hurt him. Now get out of my way."

"NO!" Takeshi screamed, running forwards, only to be stopped by his body suddenly refusing to move.

"There is a way to stop me from killing him." Sawada mused. "I wonder if you'd be willing to do it." He tilted his head to the side. "If you want to stop me from killing your father, join me. Help me in reaching my goal."

"Never!" Takeshi yelled angrily. "Why would I join someone like you!? You make me sick!"

"You're paralyzed, injured, and I've burned your sword arm." Takeshi's eyes flickered to his arm in shock. It doesn't hurt… it almost feels nice… "Are you ready to give up?"

"N- no—not if it means that tou-san will die—"

A strange look crossed over Sawada's features, the he sighed. "What a shame." The teenager said, his voice filled with pity. "Destroying all of the Yamamoto lineage will be better in the end though, I suppose…"

There was something in his eyes… regret? No. This boy had been trained from a young age to kill, just like Takeshi had been trained to defend and kill when needed.

Perhaps Takeshi had never killed, but the heir to the Vongola must have been tested to make sure he wasn't too soft. Sawada was surely a cold hearted murderer.

Tsuna held out his hands and warm orange flames flickered to life inside of them. Then there were blue flames, dancing towards the orange flames and turning orange as well, magically changing color.

"The blue flames are pretty." Takeshi said out loud. "So are the orange ones. They look warm and welcoming… like they don't care about who or what you are."

Sawada blinked at him, and smiled. "The blue flames are yours. The orange ones are mines. Flames represent yourself, you know."

Takeshi scowled at him. "Like you could be warm and welcoming." He spat. "You're nothing but a murderer."

A look of pain crossed over Sawada's features, and his hands dropped to his lap, the flames flickering out of sight.

"I suppose that I must seem that way to you, eh?" Sawada asked softly. "A heartless, coldblooded killer… you must hate me, the one who's about to kill your father. I'm not all bad. I'm only sixteen, you know."

"How many people have you killed?" Takeshi asked angrily.

The Vongola heir met Takeshi's eyes, and for a moment they looked cold and merciless, a harsh, almost black orange, but they flickered back into their light orange before Takeshi could register anything.

"I don't know." Sawada finally said, sounding miserable. "I've killed so many that I've lost count. You'll be up in the millions, I'm sure."

Takeshi drew back, horrified.

"Liar." He whispered. "You couldn't have killed so much that you don't remember how much… you can't have…"

"You're right." Tsuna agreed, and lifted a shoulder, chuckling bitterly. "I do remember. Exactly 98 people… and I remember everything about them. My first kill was an old man who had killed all his life with the sick mindset that whenever he killed someone he would live a year longer."

"He was your first kill." Takeshi replied. "Of course you'd remember him."

Sawada shook his head. "That's not all. He liked milk and hated spicy things. Acted like a whiny child and took to doodling with the blood of his victims. He made me sick. But you know what? Vongola makes me even more sick than he did."

Takeshi widened his eyes. "Why?"

"Do you really want to know?" Sawada asked. "The Mafia is the dark side of the world. The murderers, the people who gamble with die of bones and cards of skin. Eventually the darkness will consume you."

"I'm already in the darkness." Takeshi replied angrily. "I was born into this world!"

"They cheered him on." Sawada said in disgust. "They clapped him on the back and shouted words of congratulations. They smiled and turned to me and said 'Be like this when you're older. He's a wonderful role model.'"

"How…"

"I'd destroying the Vongola." Sawada repeated. "I'm destroying that terrifying world."

"No!" Takeshi shouted. "You can't! You're just like them… you… you've killed so many people! You're just like them—"

Sawada stood up. "I'm not just like them." He replied. "Do you know why?"

He was scared to know. He didn't want to get involved in this… the words that came out of the young Vongola's mouth terrified him. But he was already involved. His father… "Why?" He croaked.

"Because ever since that first kill, I've never smiled."

"You're never going to smile." Takeshi informed Sawada. "You'll keep on living his miserable life… and eventually you will smile." Takeshi forced the smile that he always had at call and beck onto his lips. "You'll become what you once despised."

"I'll kill myself first." Sawada replied.

"No you won't. I won't let you. If you ever smile, and become satisfied with that life, I'll make sure you live."

"How?" Sawada asked. "You'll be dead by then."

"No I won't." Takeshi replied. "Because I'm taking you up on your offer right now. I'm going to join you and help you to destroy the Vongola… as long as you don't kill."

0o0o0o0o0o0

"400 Years Past" (Future Reference: "Past")

Mikuri Samido was an unfortunate man. When he finally secured a job at the post office, he had been grateful. But when he was forced across half the country in order to deliver messages… well, even his knowledge of 28 languages wasn't much use against the rapid fire Italian that the furious man had screamed at him.

Indeed, G was a man to be feared.

For a moment Mikuri leaned against the screen door, panting slightly as a sweet, sad sound reached his ears. And in that moment he was tempted to just lie down and listen, but he couldn't. Not with G's terrifying face looming in his mind.

Sad to interrupt the sound, Mikuri knocked on the door.

"Asari-san?" Mikuri panted as the screen door opened revealing a shocked looking Japanese man.

"Y-yes?" The man asked, albeit a bit hesitantly. "You're the mailman, right?"

"Erm… yes. Cross-country… or more like cross-planet… but anyways, G-sama has requested that you are given this letter ASAP."

"G?" Asari repeated, looking slightly confused. "Why would he be writing to me? I haven't had contact with him and Giotto in half a year!"

Mikuri panted. "Something about danger. Mafia. Flames. I'm not quite sure…" But he was beating it out of there. He shoved the letter at Asari, mumbled a quick "here you go!" and dashed off as though hell's hounds were on his feet.

Asari blinked at Mikuri's quickly retreating form, and tilted his head to the side. "What was that about?" He murmured to himself, then rethought it. Actually… scratch that question. What did G do this time…?

Ah, right. The letter in his hands had smudged ink, but his name was unmistakable in G's scribbled script that probably came from copying Giotto's work.

The eighteen (almost nineteen) year old frowned at the envelope. It wasn't like G to write something so messily… for all his hotheadedness and eagerness to speed things up, G was an impeccably neat and organized person.

For a moment Asari wondered what was in the envelope curiously, then he slapped himself in the forehead. Idiot… open it and find out what it says! It's for you, isn't t?

Ah, he was a real idiot sometimes.

He quickly opened it, and blinked at G's quick writing, frowning slightly when he realized that it was in Italian. His Italian wasn't all that fluent…

Asari,

Well remember that vigilante group that Giotto made to oppose the land-greedy tyrant, Cormelien? Well… erm… stuff happened and we pissed off a lot of rich dudes and… well… I'll get straight to the point.
We're in a LOT of trouble. Actually, just the other day some guy tried to assassinate Giotto… an incredibly well known assassin by the name of "Alaude". We actually had to get Simon to help us. It was embarrassing to get help from him. I can protect Giotto by myself, dammit!
Well… actually, I can't. The other day Giotto got hurt and… I'm the one to blame. If I weren't here, burdening Giotto, he might not have gotten hurt. Anyways, we need serious help.
Come over and I'll… I'll… don't make me say it!... fine, I'll owe you. I hate owing people… anyways, come to Italy, Flute freak, and we'll take it from there.

G

P.S. Terminate the I owe you part, okay? I do NOT owe you….!

Asari couldn't help the smile that flitted to his face. Typical G, so hotheaded and loyal.

Okay. He would do it. But first he would need a weapon… Asari's eyes flickered over to his beloved flute, running his fingers over the smooth engraved surface for one last time as he bowed his head.

It will be worth it. He told himself. Giotto and G are worth far more than a silly old instrument. I could always get a new flute, but friends are irreplaceable.

Well, it was a good thing that the antique shop had been so eager to buy his flute for this long a time. It was finally time to put the weighty price of his flute to good use, and get himself an even more useful sword.

He tried to find a piece of paper to write on, then paused.

Actually… I'll get there as soon as possible. Writing would just waste time, and I'll get there before the paper does anyways.

Time to prepare for battle.